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“Can you stop fidgeting so much? You look like you’re constipated,” Charlie sighed, “just act natural.” The two sat at the end of the bar in a crowded, warmly-lit Manhattan pub, and Bob had never felt so out of place in his life. Nervousness was bubbling in his stomach and forcing its way out of him through beads of sweat. He was shifting from foot to foot like a teenager on prom night, he felt as if he might explode.
Charlie did this for a living, so naturally, he kept his cool. On the contrary, Bob was used to him doing this part, and delivering him the yield so he could work in his kitchen at his leisure in peace. He didn’t like going in public in general, let alone for work. But Charlie had insisted it was important he come out with him, and it wasn’t like he was going to refuse the guy supplying his whole business.
Bob had assumed it was more of a casual thing when his business partner had more or less ordered him to come a week prior. Sure, their intent was nowhere near having a good time at happy hour, but they had to blend into the stockyard to take out of it. Bob had arrived in jeans and a Patagonia hoodie and earned a disgusted look and a remark something along the lines of ‘How stupid are you?’ from Charles, who was dressed in a clean-cut suit with black gloves. Of course, he had chosen a higher-class establishment to work out of. Bob didn’t mind — the richer usually had a more consistent taste, after all — but he had assumed it would be more of a hassle.
Charlie peered around with an icy blue, slanted gaze. If he wasn’t calm already, a glass of scotch took the edge off. Meanwhile, Bob, being the teetotaler he was, nervously sipped on a club soda, which did nothing but make him more alert. His heart was punching at his ribcage, and his ribcage coiled in on it like a snake in return.
He grabbed at his collar until he yanked off a shiny, almost comically oversized safety pin that was always on his jacket. Without thinking anything of it, he pricked his fingertip, which was littered with little marks, and pressed it to his lips. The little bead of over-irony blood calmed him down a bit. It was a nervous habit.
“Can you stop staring at me like you want to eat me, and doing whatever… that is? Please?” Charlie raised a trimmed eyebrow at him from across the bar. “Huh?” He looked up at him, “Oh, sorry… I’m just-” “Nervous, yeah, I’m sure everyone can tell.” He deadpanned.
“What are we even here for, anyway?” Bob put his head on the bar, his hair blended with the dark walnut wood. He hoped he could melt into it and never come back here again. He was tired and nervous and he just wanted to leave.
“I told you,” Charlie hummed, “I wanted you to help me pick some of your goods. You’re not the only one I deal to, you know. I don’t always know exactly what type of thing you want,” His voice was low and calm, he said this nonchalantly like he owned the place. No one paid any mind. No one ever did.
Bob, on the other hand, was not near as subtle, “But this isn’t even my job- you’re supposed to catch them, and I do the rest!” His voice was much too loud, it might’ve cracked a few times, too. The chattering around them ceased a little.
Charlie kicked him under the table, forcing a laugh, “Yes, you mean those GREAT stock catches I pointed out for you?” He lowered his voice, face darkening a little, “Christ, shut up. I swear, one day you’re going to get me sent to Guam.” He took a long sip of his drink and Bob sighed. This was going to be a long night.
It went like that for around an hour- order another drink, quip, awkward silence, over and over again. Bob was finally starting to calm down, shifting his thoughts to hoping his daughter had gone to bed at a reasonable time and considering what snacks to bring to her next soccer game, when Charlie managed to ruin his night once again by motioning across the pub at a woman sitting alone at a table, “What about her?”
“What about her?” Bob raised an eyebrow, “Like, do I want you to…?” He made an incomprehensible motion with his hands. He couldn’t even bring himself to say it.
“Are you stupid?” He pulled a face, “Actually, mate, I was wondering if you’d like to ask her for a drink, yes do you want me to- ” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Isn’t that what you’re looking for? Mid 20’s, female, caucasian? Optimal fat content and what have you?”
Bob studied the woman in question for a minute. She was sitting alone, but her phone next to her got a notification a few moments later, and as soon as she checked it, her face lit up and she began typing. He wondered what it was- good news? A significant other, maybe a date? Job interview? Either way, she seemed so… happy. Everyone here was caught up in their own lives, whether their moments were happy or sad, or somewhere in between.
He didn’t usually have to think of his product as the bitter end to that- he simply processed meat. This was too much for him. Sure, it had been implied, but he was never the best at context clues, and he hadn’t fully realized exactly what they would be doing. Without saying a word, Bob got up and rushed to the bathroom, knocking his stool over in the process.
He stumbled to lock himself in the one-person bathroom, and once he did, he wrapped his arms around himself, dry-heaved, and shook for minutes and minutes. It was quiet and cold in the bathroom. The only light was an industrial, overhead lightbulb that buzzed incessantly. The music and chatter were muffled through the door. All Bob could hear was his own breathing, and all he could see was the light blurred by his tears. His hands were cold and clammy against his sides as he tried to physically hold himself together. How did he always manage to ignore this part and let it come back and bite him in the ass? He wanted to feel sick and disgusted by this, from his actions. He needed to feel sick, but all he felt was numb. He was numb and he was hungry.
He fumbled for his pin again and stuck his finger way too hard to be necessary. Blood gushed out like a water fountain. It pooled in his palm and dripped onto the floor as he stared. He couldn’t even bring himself to drink it.
Eventually, there was a knock on the door. “Occupied,” He managed, but he barely even heard himself say it. There was another knock, “Robert. Open the damn door.”
He shakily opened the door. Charlie looked… annoyed? Well, he was definitely judging him, maybe just not as harshly as usual.
“Come outside with me for a minute,” Charlie said. He took his hand and carefully led him through the crowd that would have otherwise swallowed him up through the back door where he had parked his car. The difference was black and white. Inside, the air was cramped and hot and made Bob feel like he was suffocating, but in the alleyway, it was cold and fresh. He took a long breath in. The air nipped at his ankles just below where his jeans cut off.
Charlie offered him a cigarette. He shook his head. He shrugged and lit one for himself, shooting him another famous look, “Are you alright?” His voice wasn’t as clipped as usually, he noticed.
He sighed, “Yeah, sorry. I just- I can’t.” Bob motioned to the door leading into the bar, “I can’t do this part. I know it’s hypocritical, I just. Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I dunno…” He took a second to find the right words, “I just don’t like hurting people. I mean, I know I do, but at the point you give them to me, it doesn’t really feel like it? And everyone on your end seems like… people would miss them?” His voice dropped off at the end. He felt stupid. He was thinking about Jersey when he said that part.
Charlie narrowed his eyes at him for a moment or two, and then laughed. He didn’t make a snarky remark or a scoff, he genuinely laughed, louder than Bob had ever even heard him speak. He damn near doubled over at one point. Eventually, he wiped the tears from his eyes and cleared his throat, “Sorry-” He was still laughing, “I-I- just.” He put a hand on Bob’s shoulder for a moment, “You do know that I’m not a Neanderthal who tears apart happy families, right? I don’t just go around hurting people willy-nilly. I pick them out carefully, from the very edges of the public's perception. Make sure they don't notice, cause if I did take someone with a bunch of loved ones, what do you think would happen to me? That’s why it’s so hard. Sure, not all of them are horrible, but still. Take that woman in there. College student, software developer. She doesn’t talk to her parents but waiting on their inheritance money. Drove away the friends she had with her horrible personality. She’s currently texting some dude on Tinder making up tall tales about how she was raised in an abusive household.” Charlie blew a puff of smoke that just missed his face.
Bob wrapped his arms back around himself, both because it was cold and he was scared. He felt raw and exposed. Maybe it wasn't just the cold. He furrowed his brow, “B-But that’s still a person-”
“That’s not the point.” Charlie sighed, exasperated, “You know what? Stay here, I’ll take care of it, alright?” He eyed him for a moment, pulled off his coat and put it over the shivering man’s shoulders, and with that, he was gone.
Bob sunk against the faded, teal-colored brick of the alleyway and sucked on his finger, watching his coppery breath turn to fog in the air. He almost felt guilty. Was he doing the right thing? No, but was he ever?
The back door opened again ten minutes or so later. Charlie made his way out with his arm around the woman from earlier. She looked like she could barely hold herself up, was she drunk? He squeezed his eyes shut like a little kid watching a horror movie as Charlie grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall a few times, not hard enough to do any serious damage. She made a small noise of protest, but she was already too far gone from the sleeping pills he had put in her drink. When he let go of her, she dropped to the ground.
“This one look okay?” He spoke as if he was talking about an apple at the grocery store. Bob opened one of his eyes a little and glanced over the woman. He just nodded with incredulous wide eyes as Charlie zip-tied her thumbs together behind her back, then her ankles, like he had done it 100 times before. Scratch that, he totally had. He closed his eyes again and turned the other way. He didn’t even need to look to feel the judging stare on him, “You can get in the car and wait, you know.”
So there he sat in the passenger, waiting for Charlie to wrap everything up. Was that… seram wrap he heard outside? Ugh. He hugged the oversized suit jacket tighter around him and tried to block it out. He was cold and it made him feel better to have an extra layer. (Yeah, that’s why. )After a little while, he heard the trunk slam. Charlie got in the car and hit the lock.
“So, Adam wants to meet you,” He blurted out as he put the key into the ignition like it was the most nonchalant thing in the world.
Bob blinked for a moment, “Adam?” He looked over at him, what did he just say? Did he hear that right? Then it hit him, “WHAT? WHEN? WHY?” He felt like he would have a heart arrhythmia then and there.
“Tonight,” Charlie chimed in, and Bob forgot how to breathe.
“And here I thought you would be elated,” he deadpanned, “Don’t worry, he just takes interest in your work.” He paid no mind to his freakout and pulled out of the alleyway, and Bob shot up from where he had receded into his jacket, “Waitwaitwait- hold on, where are we going?”
“Where else?” Charlie shrugged, “I mean, unless you want to stand up the Adam. I’m sure that would pan out for you in the long run?” He raised an eyebrow at him.
Bob shut up after that.
It felt like the longest drive in the world, though according to Google Maps (Charlie’s had a British accent, for some reason) it was only 20. Bob felt like he would go into a catatonic state as Charlie parked in the back and led him into the most extravagant apartment building he had ever seen. He was barely even paying attention as Charlie herded him into an elevator marked ‘PRIVATE,’ which he had to use a key to get to work, and pressed the button to the top floor.
There were a few long beats of silence as the elevator creaked past the fifth floor, then the tenth, then the fifteenth, the narrow window flashing sights of the buildings below. Charlie stood to the side, hands clasped. The bell made a crackly, dying dinging noise as they reached the 21st floor, and finally, Charlie broke the silence by murmuring another ‘act natural.’ Bob thought he might take the advice to heart this time.
The elevator doors opened to reveal a hallway. It was long. A dark, deep red carpet rolled along the floor like a pathway. Charlie stepped ahead of him and made his way down the hall and stopped at the end. He waited for Bob to catch up, who was taking in the dark, varnished doors padlocked one after another along the hall, the way it was barely lit by soft lights, the quiet of it all. It was so dead quiet, he could hear himself breathe. He wondered if anyone was even here. When he came up behind him Charlie rapped on the door. It opened when he touched it, soft, like everything else, so he stepped in.
The room beyond the door was huge- the ceiling went up at least 5 meters, and the windows went from the top of the room to about waist height, the orange and yellow blaring lights of the inner city dimly illuminating the room with the addition of only a few dim lights showcasing the art on the walls. It was almost entirely brown, black and red, which contributed to the dark. A metal staircase curled up from the right side of the room into a dark area he couldn’t quite see. He felt pairs of eyes on him as he took a minute to look at the faces around the room. When he turned to look at Charlie beside him for some semblance of comfort, he wasn’t there anymore. He was sitting on a couch in the windowless right side of the room. A woman he didn’t recognize with a wheatish mane of hair flipped over one of her shoulders, dark red lipstick, and an inappropriately low-cut top for his taste was splayed over his lap. Bob tried to ignore the twinge of jealousy he felt when he saw her.
There was a thin, small man with dark brown hair sitting at the huge desk at the other end of the room. He was wearing a black suit and his hair was parted in a flip, almost covering the left side of his face. He looked over Bob with a critical gaze, and he didn’t even have to say anything to make his heart jump up in his chest. Behind him stood a much taller, well-built man in a blue hoodie and surgical mask adorned with spatters of blood, who had to be at least 7 feet tall. Sitting on either side of the central windowsill sat two incredibly still people, dressed head to toe in inky black. They were wearing white masks with black indents where their eyes would be. The Noir.
“I’ve been expecting you,” The man at the desk, who he now assumed was Adam, finally said. His voice echoed. Bob opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Was he shaking? He was shaking. There was a beat of silence, then he cracked a grin, “Jesus, loosen up, will you?” The woman sitting less than a professional distance from Charlie tittered. Adam smiled at her.
“Well, sit down, don’t be Clint Edwards.” Adam and everyone else in the room shared a laugh, including a tall, slim, tattooed man in the other corner he hadn’t seen before. He didn’t get the joke, but he complied anyway.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Adam said. He seemed genuine in his words. There wasn’t any malice or hostility like he had expected, and when Adam stood up to hold his hand out across the desk, he wobbled and used his left hand to support himself. It was only then when Bob noticed he had been sitting in a wheelchair. He shook his hand with the tiny smile he managed to force out of his steadily clenching jaw.
The man in the hoodie secured a hand around Adam’s waist and helped him ease back into his seat. Adam flashed him a pained, but genuine smile, “I’m fine, hun,” He said. The man didn't seem convinced.
Adam studied him for a moment and clasped his hands on the desk.
“So,” he said, leaning forward, “I want to make you a deal.”